


Love Drunk

by pareidoliajules



Series: McHayward Prompt Extravaganza [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 10:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13269345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pareidoliajules/pseuds/pareidoliajules
Summary: Jane is curious about what Mason's into. ;) Fill for the 'secret kink' prompt, even though McHayward are vanilla babies (for now, anyway).





	Love Drunk

Mason has had  _a lot_  of wine.

Jane has had…also a lot, but not quite as much as Mason, and they’ve been dating for six months, and it’s not that things are boring by any means, it’s just that Jane wants to know Mason better than anybody, wants to know more about him than she’s ever wanted to know anything, and…well, they’ve had a lot of wine.

“Hey,” Jane says, from her place against Mason’s side. Her head is in her favorite crook of his shoulder and his arm his beneath her head and against her back; his other is underneath his head, and he’s still halfway laughing from whatever they were just talking about. Jane can’t remember.

“Hey,” Mason responds, turning to look at her with a smile.

Oh, man, she loves him.

The words almost tumble out of her, but she locks them up tight - not yet, not yet, not yet, she can’t ruin this, not yet. Instead of saying so, she sits up a little bit, leaning over him, and raises her eyebrows at him, which makes him laugh again.

“Hey?”

“Hey,” Jane leans down and kisses him. She kisses him and kisses him and his hand moves slowly up her back, holding her close, and she can feel his soft moan echoing through her and–wait, no, no, she had a point. “Wait. Wait. Hey.”

Mason pouts. “Hey.”

“Hey…I have a question.” Jane traces patterns on Mason’s chest and looks at him with those wide, wide eyes of hers, and Mason nods automatically. The answer to anything she might ask is definitely whatever she wants to hear - yes, no, he’d tell her anything, and then he’d make sure it was true. She’s dropped her gaze to his chest now, watching her own finger against the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Okay, J.”

“Do…you have any fantasies?” She looks back at him then, and there’s something hesitant in her gaze but also something so sexy Mason has to tilt her up to him for a kiss. And he kisses her and kisses her and he almost can’t even remember what her question was–

“Hey, no, Mase…” Jane pulls back and she brushes her fingers along his cheekbone just-so and Mason thinks, not for the first time since he started dating Jane, that he must be already dead and this must be already heaven, because he can’t imagine anything better than this.

“Wh-what?”

“Fantasies. You. Go. I want to know.”

“Fantasies like…like sex fantasies? Or fantasies like I’m pitcher for the Yankees?”

Jane rolls her eyes but lets Mason sit up, and lets him tug her into his lap, even though she knows that this position isn’t likely to get her any closer to answers.

“Like sex fantasies, yes, because…”

“Be…cause if I tell you them you might do them?” Mason finishes, raising his eyebrows hopefully and giving her the grin she could never help but kiss.

“Shut up. I’m curious.”

Mason sighs and shakes his head, running the hand that isn’t holding her through his hair. She recognizes it as an anxious gesture, which confuses her and almost hurts her feelings, before she realizes that he’s steeling himself.

“I’ve kind of always wanted to try…b-bondage?”

Jane raises her eyebrows. “You–” she pauses for a second, collects herself, continues in a much less surprised voice, “You want to tie me up?”

Mason blinks. “No!” He paused, tilted his head, then corrected, “I mean–I mean, maybe, ‘cause–’cause jeeze, but…I meant you. Tie me up. I–I think it might be cool to…” Mason swallows and looks at her, his eyes grey-blue-green and deep and dark in the dim light, “to be at your mercy.”

Jane is very, very glad she asked.


End file.
